He showed her a little stick he had in his hand, and she said, "Idon't think you could hurt them much with that, and if they will benaughty and steal the potatoes, you have to drive them out. Takesome of my pears and eat them, and you will forget your trouble."The child took the fruit, and Miss Laura and the two young menwent on their way, smiling, and looking over their shoulders atTommy, who stood in the lane, devouring his pears and keepingone eye on the geese that had gathered a little in front of him, andwere gabbling noisily and having a kind of indignation meeting,because they had been driven out of the potato field.

Tommy's father and mother lived in a little house down near theroad. Mr. Wood never had his hired men live in his own house. Hehad two small houses for them to live in, and they were required tokeep them as neat as Mr. Wood's own house was kept. He said thathe didn't see why he should keep a boarding house, if he was afarmer, nor why his wife should wear herself out waiting onstrong, hearty men, that had just as soon take care of themselves.He wished to have his own family about him, and it was better forhis men to have some kind of family life for themselves. If one ofhis men was unmarried, he boarded with the married one, but sleptin his own house.

On this October day we found Mr. Wood hard at work under thefruit trees. He had a good many different kind of apples. Enormousred ones, and long, yellow ones that they called pippins, and littlebrown ones, and smooth-coated sweet ones, and bright red ones,and others, more than I could mention. Miss Laura often pared oneand cut off little bits for me, for I always wanted to eat whatever Isaw her eating.

Just a few days after this, Miss Laura and I returned to Fairport,and some of Mr. Wood's apples traveled along with us, for he senta good many to the Boston market. Mr. and Mrs. Wood came tothe station to see us off. Mr. Harry could not come, for he had leftRiverdale the day before to go back to his college. Mrs. Wood saidthat she would be very lonely without her two young people, andshe kissed Miss Laura over and over again, and made her promiseto come back again the next summer.

I was put in a box in the express car, and Mr. Wood told the agentthat if he knew what was good for him he would speak to meoccasionally for I was a very knowing dog, and if he didn't treat mewell, I'd be apt to write him up in the newspapers. The agentlaughed, and quite often on the way to Fairport, he came to my boxand spoke kindly to me. So I did not get so lonely and frightenedas I did on my way to Riverdale.

How glad the Morrises were to see us coming back. The boys hadall gotten home before us, and such a fuss as they did make overtheir sister. They loved her dearly, and never wanted her to be longaway from them. I was rubbed and stroked, and had to run aboutoffering my paw to every one. Jim and little Billy licked my face,and Bella croaked out, "Glad to see you, Joe. Had a good time?How's your health?"

We soon settled down for the winter. Miss Laura began going toschool, and came home every day with a pile of books under herarm. The summer in the country had done her so much good thather mother often looked at her fondly, and said the white-facedchild she sent away had come home a nut-brown maid.

CHAPTER XXXIII PERFORMING ANIMALS

A WEEK or two after we got home, I heard the Morris boystalking about an Italian who was coming to Fairport with a troupeof trained animals, and I could see for myself whenever I went totown, great flaming pictures on the fences, of monkeys sitting attables, dogs and ponies, and goats climbing ladders, and rollingballs, and doing various tricks. I wondered very much whether theywould be able to do all those extraordinary things, but it turned outthat they did.

The Italian's name was Bellini, and one afternoon the wholeMorris family went to see him and his animals, and when theycame home, I heard them talking about it. "I wish you could havebeen there, Joe," said Jack, pulling up my paws to rest on hisknees. "Now listen, old fellow and I'll tell you all about it. First ofall, there was a perfect jam in the town hall. I sat up in front, witha lot of fellows, and had a splendid view. The old Italian came outdressed in his best suit of clothes black broadcloth, flower in hisbuttonhole, and so on. He made a fine bow, and he said he was'pleased too see ze fine audience, and he was going to show zem zefine animals, ze finest animals in ze world.' Then he shook a littlewhip that he carried in his hand, and he said 'zat zat whip didn'tmean zat he was cruel. He cracked it to show his animals when tobegin, end, or change their tricks.' Some boy yelled, 'Rats! you dowhip them sometimes,' and the old man made another bow, andsaid, 'Sairteenly, he whipped zem just as ze mammas whip zenaughty boys, to make zem keep still when zey was noisy orstubborn.'

"Then everybody laughed at the boy, and the Italian said theperformance would begin by a grand procession of all the animals,if some lady would kindly step up to the piano and play a march.Nina Smith you know Nina, Joe, the girl that has black eyes andwears blue ribbons, and lives around the corner stepped up to thepiano, and banged out a fine loud march. The doors at the side ofthe platform opened, and out came the animals, two by two, justlike Noah's ark. There was a pony with a monkey walking beside itand holding on to its mane, another monkey on a pony's back, twomonkeys hand in hand, a dog with a parrot on his back, a goatharnessed to a little carriage, another goat carrying a birdcage in itsmouth with two canaries inside, different kinds of cats, somedoves and pigeons, half a dozen white rats with red harness, anddragging a little chariot with a monkey in it, and a common whitegander that came in last of all, and did nothing but follow one ofthe ponies about.

"The Italian spoke of the gander, and said it was a stupid creature,and could learn no tricks and he only kept it on account of itsaffection for the pony. He had got them both on a Vermont farm,when he was looking for show animals. The pony's master hadmade a pet of him, and had taught him to come whenever hewhistled for him. Though the pony was only a scrub of a creature,he had a gentle disposition, and every other animal on the farmliked him. A gander, in particular, had such an admiration for himthat he followed him wherever he went, and if he lost him for aninstant, he would mount one of the knolls on the farm and stretchout his neck looking for him. When he caught sight of him, hegabbled with delight, and running to him, waddled up and downbeside him. Every little while the pony put his nose down, andseemed to be having a conversation with the goose. If the farmerwhistled the pony and he started to run to him, the gander,knowing he could not keep up, would seize the pony's tail in hisbeak, and flapping his wings, would get along as fast as the ponydid. And the pony never kicked him. The Italian saw that this ponywould be a good one to train for the stage, so he offered the farmera large price for him, and took him away.

"Oh, Joe, I forgot to say, that by this time all the animals had beensent off the stage except the pony and the gander, and they stoodlooking at the Italian while he talked. I never saw anything ashuman in dumb animals as that pony's face. He looked as if heunderstood every word that his master was saying. After this storywas over, the Italian made another bow, and then told the pony tobow. He nodded his head at the people, and they all laughed. Thenthe Italian asked him to favor us with a waltz, and the pony got upon his hind legs and danced. You should have seen that ganderskirmishing around, so as to be near the pony and yet keep out ofthe way of his heels. We fellows just roared, and we would havekept him dancing all the afternoon if the Italian hadn't begged 'zeyoung gentlemen not to make ze noise, but let ze pony do ze rest ofhis tricks.' Pony number two came on the stage, and it was tooqueer for anything to see the things the two of them did. Theyhelped the Italian on with his coat, they pulled off his rubbers, theytook his coat away and brought him a chair, and dragged a table upto it. They brought him letters and papers, and rang bells, androlled barrels, and swung the Italian in a big swing, and jumped arope, and walked up and down steps they just went around thatstage as handy with their teeth as two boys would be with theirhands, and they seemed to understand every word their master saidto them.

"The best trick of all was telling the time and doing questions inarithmetic. The Italian pulled his watch out of his pocket andshowed it to the first pony, whose name was Diamond, and said,'What time is it?' The pony looked at it, then scratched four timeswith his forefoot on the platform. The Italian said, 'Zat's good fouro'clock. But it's a few minutes after four how many?' The ponyscratched again five times. The Italian showed his watch to theaudience, and said that it was just five minutes past four. Then heasked the pony how old he was. He scratched four times. Thatmeant four years. He asked him how many days in a week therewere, how many months in a year; and he gave him somequestions in addition and subtraction, and the pony answered themall correctly. Of course, the Italian was giving him some sign; but,though we watched him closely, we couldn't make out what it was.At last, he told the pony that he had been very good, and had donehis lessons well; if it would rest him, he might be naughty a littlewhile. All of a sudden a wicked look came into the creature's eyes.He turned around, and kicked up his heels at his master, he pushedover the table and chairs, and knocked down a blackboard wherehe had been rubbing out figures with a sponge held in his mouth.The Italian pretended to be cross, and said, 'Come, come; thiswon't do,' and he called the other pony to him, and told him to takethat troublesome fellow off the stage. The second one nosedDiamond, and pushed him about, finally bit him by the ear, and ledhim squealing off the stage. The gander followed, gabbling as fastas he could, and there was a regular roar of applause.

"After that, there were ladders brought in, Joe, and dogs came on;not thoroughbreds, but curs something like you. The Italian says hecan't teach tricks to pedigree animals as well as to scrubs. Thosedogs jumped the ladders, and climbed them, and went throughthem, and did all kinds of things. The man cracked his whip once,and they began; twice, and they did backward what they had doneforward; three times, and they stopped, and every animal, dogs,goats, ponies, and monkeys, after they had finished their tricks, ranup to their master, and he gave them a lump of sugar. They seemedfond of him, and often when they weren't performing went up tohim, and licked his hands or his sleeve. There was one boss dog,Joe, with a head like yours. Bob, they called him, and he did all histricks alone. The Italian went off the stage, and the dog came onand made his bow, and climbed his ladders, and jumped hishurdles, and went off again. The audience howled for an encore,and didn't he come out alone, make another bow, and retire. I sawold Judge Brown wiping the tears from his eyes, he'd laughed somuch. One of the last tricks was with a goat, and the Italian said itwas the best of all, because the goat is such a hard animal to teach.He had a big ball, and the goat got on it and rolled it across thestage without getting off. He looked as nervous as a cat, shakinghis old beard, and trying to keep his four hoofs close enoughtogether to keep him on the ball.

"We had a funny little play at the end of the performance. Amonkey dressed as a lady in a white satin suit and a bonnet with awhite veil, came on the stage. She was Miss Green and the dogBob was going to elope with her. He was all rigged out as Mr.Smith, and had on a light suit of clothes, and a tall hat on the sideof his head, high collar, long cuffs, and he carried a cane. He was aregular dude. He stepped up to Miss Green on his hind legs, andhelped her on to a pony's back. The pony galloped off the stage;then a crowd of monkeys, chattering and wringing their hands,came on. Mr. Smith had run away with their child. They were alldressed up, too. There were the father and mother, with gray wigsand black clothes, and the young Greens in bibs and tuckers. Theywere a queer-looking crowd. While they were going on in this way,the pony trotted back on the stage; and they all flew at him andpulled off their daughter from his back, and laughed and chattered,and boxed her ears, and took off her white veil and her satin dress,and put on an old brown thing, and some of them seized the dog,and kicked his hat, and broke his cane, and stripped his clothes off,and threw them in a corner, and bound his legs with cords. A goatcame on, harnessed to a little cart and they threw the dog in it, andwheeled him around the stage a few times. Then they took him outand tied him to a hook in the wall, and the goat ran off the stage,and the monkeys ran to one side, and one of them pulled out alittle revolver, pointed it at the dog, fired, and he dropped down asif he was dead.

"The monkeys stood looking at him, and then there was the mostawful hullabaloo you ever beard. Such a barking and yelping, andhalf a dozen dogs rushed on the stage, and didn't they trundle thosemonkeys about. They nosed them, and pushed them, and shookthem, till they all ran away, all but Miss Green, who sat shiveringin a corner. After a while, she crept up to the dead dog, pawed hima little, and didn't he jump up as much alive as any of them?Everybody in the room clapped and shouted, and then the curtaindropped, and the thing was over. I wish he'd give anotherperformance. Early in thc morning he has to go to Boston."

Jack pushed my paws from his knees and went outdoors, and Ibegan to think that I would very much like to see those performinganimals. It was not yet tea time, and I would have plenty of time totake a run down to the hotel where they were staying, so I set out.It was a lovely autumn evening. The sun was going down in ahaze, and it was quite warm. Earlier in the day I had heard Mr.Morris say that this was our Indian summer, and that we shouldsoon have cold weather.

Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the principal street onecould look out upon the blue water of the bay and see the islandopposite, which was quite deserted now, for all the summervisitors had gone home, and the Island House was shut up.

I was running down one of the steep side streets that led to thewater when I met a heavily-laden cart coming up. It must havebeen coming from one of the vessels, for it was full ofstrange-looking boxes and packages. A fine-looking nervous horsewas drawing it, and he was straining every nerve to get it up thesteep hill. His driver was a burly, hard-faced man, and instead ofletting his horse stop a minute to rest he kept urging him forward.The poor horse kept looking at his master, his eyes almost startingfrom his head in terror. He knew that the whip was about todescend on his quivering body. And so it did, and there was no oneby to interfere. No one but a woman in a ragged shawl who wouldhave no influence with the driver. There was a very good humanesociety in Fairport, and none of the teamsters dared ill-use theirhorses if any of the members were near. This was a quietout-of-the-way street, with only poor houses on it, and the manprobably knew that none of the members of the society would belikely to be living in them. He whipped his horse, and whippedhim, till every lash made my heart ache, and if I had dared I wouldhave bitten him severely. Suddenly, there was a dull thud in thestreet. The horse had fallen down. The driver ran to his head, buthe was quite dead. "Thank God!" said the poorly-dressed woman,bitterly; "one more out of this world of misery." Then she turnedand went down the street. I was glad for the horse. He would neverbe frightened or miserable again, and I went slowly on, thinkingthat death is the best thing that can happen to tortured animals.

The Fairport hotel was built right in the centre of the town, and theshops and houses crowded quite close about it. It was a high, brickbuilding, and it was called the Fairport House. As I was runningalong the sidewalk, I heard some one speak to me, and looking upI saw Charlie Montague. I had heard the Morrises say that hisparents were staying at the hotel for a few weeks, while their housewas being repaired. He had his Irish setter, Brisk, with him, and ahandsome dog he was, as he stood waving his silky tail in thesunlight. Charlie patted me, and then he and his dog went into thehotel. I turned into the stable yard. It was a small, choked-up place,and as I picked my way under the cabs and wagons standing in theyard, I wondered why the hotel people didn't buy some of the oldhouses near by, and tear them down, and make a stable yardworthy of such a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just gettingrubbed down after their day's work, and others were coming in.The men were talking and laughing, and there was no sign ofstrange animals, so I went around to the back of the yard. Herethey were, in an empty cow stable, under a hay loft. There weretwo little ponies tied up in a stall, two goats beyond them, anddogs and monkeys in strong traveling cages. I stood in the doorwayand stared at them. I was sorry for the dogs to be shut up on such alovely evening, but I suppose their master was afraid of theirgetting lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose.

They all seemed very friendly. The ponies turned around andlooked at me with their gentle eyes, and then went on munchingtheir hay. I wondered very much where the gander was, and went alittle farther into the stable. Something white raised itself up out ofthe brownest pony's crib, and there was the gander close up besidethe open mouth of his friend. The monkeys make a jabberingnoise, and held on to the bars of their cage with their little blackhands, while they looked out at me. The dogs sniffed the air, andwagged their tails, and tried to put their muzzles through the barsof their cage. I liked the dogs best, and I wanted to see the one theycalled Bob, so I went up quite close to them. There were two littlewhite dogs, something like Billy, two mongrel spaniels, an Irishterrier, and a brown dog asleep in the corner, that I knew must beBob. He did look a little like me, but he was not quite so ugly forhe had his ears and his tail.

While I was peering through the bars at him, a man came in thestable. He noticed me the first thing, but instead of driving me out,he spoke kindly to me, in a language that I did not understand. So Iknew that he was the Italian. How glad the animals were to seehim! The gander fluttered out of his nest, the ponies pulled at theirhalters, the dogs whined and tried to reach his hands to lick them,and the monkeys chattered with delight. He laughed and talkedback to them in queer, soft-sounding words. Then he took out of abag on his arm, bones for the dogs, nuts and cakes for themonkeys, nice, juicy carrots for the ponies, some green stuff forthe goats, and corn for the gander.

It was a pretty sight to see the old man feeding his pets, and itmade me feel quite hungry, so I trotted home. I had a run downtown again that evening with Mr. Morris, who went to getsomething from a shop for his wife. He never let his boys go totown after tea, so if there were errands to be done, he or Mrs.Morris went. The town was bright and lively that evening, and agreat many people were walking about and looking into the shopwindows.

When we came home, I went into the kennel with Jim, and there Islept till the middle of the night. Then I started up and ran outside.There was a distant bell ringing, which we often heard in Fairport,and which always meant fire.

CHAPTER XXXIV A FIRE IN FAIRPORT

I HAD several times run to a fire with the boys, and knew thatthere was always great noise and excitement. There was a light inthe house, so I knew that somebody was getting up. I don't thinkindeed I know, for they were good boys that they ever wantedanybody to lose property, but they did enjoy seeing a blaze, andone of their greatest delights, when there hadn't been a fire forsome time, was to build a bonfire in the garden.

Jim and I ran around to the front of the house and waited. In a fewminutes, some one came rattling at the front door, and I was sure itwas Jack. But it was Mr. Morris, and without a word to us, he setoff almost running toward the town. We followed after him, and aswe hurried along other men ran out from the houses along thestreets, and either joined him; or dashed ahead. They seemed tohave dressed in a hurry, and were thrusting their arms in theircoats, and buttoning themselves up as they went. Some of themhad hats and some of them had none, and they all had their facestoward the great red light that got brighter and brighter ahead ofus. "Where's the fire?" they shouted to each other. "Don't knowafraid it' s the hotel, or the town hall. It's such a blaze. Hope not.How's the water supply now? Bad time for a fire."

It was the hotel. We saw that as soon as we got on to the mainstreet. There were people all about, and a great noise andconfusion, and smoke and blackness; and up above, bright tonguesof flame were leaping against the sky. Jim and I kept close to Mr.Morris's heels, as he pushed his way among the crowd. When wegot nearer the burning building, we saw men carrying ladders andaxes, and others were shouting directions, and rushing out of thehotel, carrying boxes and bundles and furniture in their arms. Fromthe windows above came a steady stream of articles, thrownamong the crowd. A mirror struck Mr. Morris on the arm, and awhole package of clothes fell on his head and almost smotheredhim; but he brushed them aside and scarcely noticed them. Therewas something the matter with Mr. Morris I knew by the worriedsound of his voice when he spoke to any one. I could not see hisface, though it was as light as day about us, for we had got jammedin the crowd, and if I had not kept between his feet, I should havebeen trodden to death. Jim, being larger than I was, had gotseparated from us.

Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice above the uproar, and called,"Is every one out of the hotel?" A voice shouted back, "I'm goingup to see."

"It's Jim Watson, the fireman," cried some one near. "He's riskinghis life to go into that pit of flame. Don't go, Watson." I don't thinkthat the brave fireman paid any attention to this warning, for aninstant later the same voice said "He's planting his ladder againstthe third story. He's bound to go. He'll not get any farther than thesecond, anyway."

"Where are the Montagues?" shouted Mr. Morris. "Has any oneseen the Montagues?"

"Mr. Morris! Mr. Morris!" said a frightened voice, and youngCharlie Montague pressed through the people to us. "Where'spapa?"

"I don't know. Where did you leave him?" said Mr. Morris, takinghis hand and drawing him closer to him. "I was sleeping in hisroom," said the boy, "and a man knocked at the door and said,'Hotel on fire. Five minutes to dress and get out,' and papa told meto put on my clothes and go downstairs, and he ran up to mamma."

"Where was she?" asked Mr. Morris, quickly.

"On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche were up there. Youknow, mamma hasn't been well and couldn't sleep, and our roomwas so noisy that she moved upstairs where it was quiet." Mr.Morris gave a kind of groan. "Oh I'm so hot, and there's such adreadful noise," said the little boy, bursting into tears, "and I wantmamma." Mr. Morris soothed him as best he could, and drew hima little to the edge of the crowd.

While he was doing this, there was a piercing cry. I could not seethe person making it, but I knew it was the Italian's voice. He wasscreaming, in broken English that the fire was spreading to thestables, and his animals would be burned. Would no one help himto get his animals out? There was a great deal of confusedlanguage. Some voices shouted, "Look after the people first. Letthe animals go." And others said, "For shame. Get the horses out."But no one seemed to do anything, for the Italian went on cryingfor help. I heard a number of people who were standing near us saythat it had just been found out that several persons who had beensleeping in the top of the hotel had not got out. They said that atone of the top windows a poor housemaid was shrieking for help.Here in the street we could see no one at the upper windows, forsmoke was pouring from them.

The air was very hot and heavy and I didn't wonder that CharlieMontague felt ill. He would have fallen on the ground if Mr.Morris hadn't taken him in his arms, and carried him out of thecrowd. He put him down on the brick sidewalk, and unfastened hislittle shirt, and left me to watch him, while he held his hands undera leak in a hose that was fastened to a hydrant near us. He gotenough water to dash on Charlie's face and breast, and then seeingthat the boy was reviving, he sat down on the curbstone and tookhim on his knee. Charlie lay in his arms and moaned. He was adelicate boy, and he could not stand rough usage as the Morrisboys could.

Mr. Morris was terribly uneasy. His face was deathly white, and heshuddered whenever there was a cry from the burning building."Poor souls God help them. Oh, this is awful," he said; and then heturned his eyes from the great sheets of flame and strained thelittle boy to his breast. At last there were wild shrieks that I knewcame from no human throats. The fire must have reached thehorses. Mr. Morris sprang up, then sank back again. He wanted togo, yet he could be of no use. There were hundreds of menstanding about, but the fire had spread so rapidly, and they had solittle water to put on it that there was very little they could do. Iwondered whether I could do anything for the poor animals. I wasnot afraid of fire, as most dogs, for one of the tricks that the Morrisboys had taught me was to put out a fire with my paws. Theywould throw a piece of lighted paper on the floor, and I wouldcrush it with my forepaws; and if the blaze was too large for that, Iwould drag a bit of old carpet over it and jump on it. I left Mr.Morris, and ran around the corner of the street to the back of thehotel. It was not burned as much here as in the front, and in thehouses all around, people were out on their roofs with wetblankets, and some were standing at the window watching the fire,or packing up their belongings ready to move if it should spread tothem. There was a narrow lane running up a short distance towardthe hotel, and I started to go up this, when in front of me I heardsuch a wailing, piercing noise, that it made me shudder and standstill. The Italian's animals were going to be burned up and theywere calling to their master to come and get them out. Their voicessounded like the voices of children in mortal pain. I could notstand it. I was seized with such an awful horror of the fire that Iturned and ran, feeling so thankful that I was not in it. As I got intothe street I stumbled over something. It was a large bird a parrot,and at first I thought it was Bella. Then I remembered hearing Jacksay that the Italian had a parrot. It was not dead, but seemed stupidwith the smoke. I seized it in my mouth, and ran and laid it at Mr.Morris's feet. He wrapped it in his handkerchief, and laid it besidehim.

I sat, and trembled, and did not leave him again. I shall neverforget that dreadful night. It seemed as if we were there for hours,but in reality it was only a short time. The hotel soon got to be allred flames, and there was very little smoke. The inside of thebudding had burned away, and nothing more could be gotten out.The firemen and all the people drew back, and there was no noise.Everybody stood gazing silently at the flames. A man steppedquietly up to Mr. Morris, and looking at him, I saw that it was Mr.Montague. He was usually a well-dressed man, with a kind face,and a head of thick, grayish brown hair. Now his face was blackand grimy, his hair was burnt from the front of his head, and hisclothes were half torn from his back. Mr. Morris sprang up whenhe saw him, and said "Where is your wife?"

The gentleman did not say a word, but pointed to the burningbuilding. "Impossible!" cried Mr. Morris. "Is there no mistake?Your beautiful young wife, Montague. Can it be so?" Mr. Morriswas trembling from head to foot.

"It is true," said Mr. Montague, quietly. "Give me the boy." Charliehad fainted again and his father took him in his arms, and turnedaway.

"Montague!" cried Mr. Morris, "my heart is sore for you. Can I donothing?"

"No, thank you," said the gentleman, without turning around; butthere was more anguish in his voice than in Mr. Morris's, andthough I am only a, dog, I knew that his heart was breaking.

CHAPTER XXXV BILLY AND THE ITALIAN

MR. MORRIS stayed no longer. He followed Mr. Montague alongthe sidewalk a little way, and then exchanged a few hurried wordswith some men who were standing near, and hastened homethrough streets that seemed dark and dull after the splendor of thefire. Though it was still the middle of the night, Mrs. Morris wasup and dressed and waiting for him. She opened the hall door withone hand and held a candle in the other. I felt frightened andmiserable, and didn't want to leave Mr. Morris, so I crept in afterhim.

"Don't make a noise," said Mrs. Morris. "Laura and the boys aresleeping, and I thought it better not to wake them. It has been aterrible fire, hasn't it? Was it the hotel?" Mr. Morris threw himselfinto a chair and covered his face with his hands.

"Speak to me, William!" said Mrs. Morris, in a startled tone. "Youare not hurt, are you?" and she put her candle on the table andcame and sat down beside him.

He dropped his hands from his face, and tears were running downhis cheeks. "Ten lives lost," he said; "among them Mrs.Montague."

Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little cry, "William, itcan't be so!"

It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit still. He got up and walkedto and fro on the floor. "It was an awful scene, Margaret. I neverwish to look upon the like again. Do you remember how Iprotested against the building of that deathtrap. Look at the wide,open streets around it, and yet they persisted in running it up to thesky. God will require an account of those deaths at the hands of themen who put up that building. It is terrible this disregard of humanlives. To think of that delicate woman and her death agony." Hethrew himself in a chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Where was she? How did it happen? Was her husband saved, andCharlie?" said Mrs. Morris, in a broken voice.

"Yes; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Charlie will recoverfrom it. Montague's life is done. You know his love for his wife.Oh, Margaret! when will men cease to be fools? What does theLord think of them when they say, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' Andthe other poor creatures burned to death their lives are as preciousin his sight as Mrs. Montague's."

Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mrs. Morris, like a sensiblewoman, questioned him no further, but made a fire and got himsome hot tea. Then she made him lie down on the sofa, and she satby him till day-break, when she persuaded him to go to bed. Ifollowed her about, and kept touching her dress with my nose. Itseemed so good to me to have this pleasant home after all themisery I had seen that night. Once she stopped and took my headbetween her hands, "Dear old Joe," she said, tearfully, "this asuffering world. It's well there's a better one beyond it."

In the morning the boys went down town before breakfast andlearned all about the fire. It started in the top story of the hotel, inthe room of some fast young men, who were sitting up late playingcards. They had smuggled wine into their room and had beendrinking till they were stupid. One of them upset the lamp, andwhen the flames began to spread so that they could not extinguishthem, instead of rousing some one near them, they rusheddownstairs to get some one there to come up and help them put outthe fire. When they returned with some of the hotel people, theyfound that the flames had spread from their room, which was in an"L" at the back of the house, to the front part, where Mrs.Montague's room was, and where the housemaids belonging to thehotel slept. By this time Mr. Montague had gotten upstairs, but hefound the passageway to his wife's room so full of flames andsmoke, that, though he tried again and again to force his waythrough, he could not. He disappeared for a time, then he came toMr. Morris and got his boy, and took him to some rooms over hisbank, and shut himself up with him. For some days he would let noone in; then he came out with the look of an old man on his face,and his hair as white as snow, and went out to his beautiful housein the outskirts of the town.

Nearly all the horses belonging to the hotel were burned. A fewwere gotten out by having blankets put over their heads, but themost of them were so terrified that they would not stir.

The Morris boys said that they found the old Italian sitting on anempty box, looking at the smoking ruins of the hotel. His head washanging on his breast, and his eyes were full of tears. His ponieswere burned up, he said, and the gander, and the monkeys, and thegoat, and his wonderful performing dogs. He had only his birdsleft, and he was a ruined man. He had toiled all his life to get thistroupe of trained animals together, and now they were swept fromhim. It was cruel and wicked, and he wished he could die. Thecanaries, and pigeons, and doves, the hotel people had allowedhim to take to his room, and they were safe. The parrot was lost aneducated parrot that could answer forty questions, and, amongother things, could take a watch and tell the time of day.

Jack Morris told him that they had it safe at home, and that it wasvery much alive, quarrelling furiously with his parrot Bella. Theold man's face brightened at this, and then Jack and Carl, findingthat he had had no breakfast, went off to a restaurant near by, andgot him some steak and coffee. The Italian was very grateful, andas he ate, Jack said the tears ran into his coffee cap. He told themhow much he loved his animals, and how it "made ze heart bitterto hear zem crying him to deliver zem from ze raging fire."

The boys came home, and got their breakfast and went to school.Miss Laura did not go out She sat all day with a very quiet, painedface and could neither read nor sew, and Mr. and Mrs. Morris werejust as unsettled. They talked about the fire in low tones, and Icould see that they felt more sad about Mrs. Montague's death thanif she had died in an ordinary way. Her dear little canary Barry,died with her. She would never be separated from him, and hiscage had been taken up to the top of the hotel with her. Heprobably died an easier death than his poor mistress. Charley's dogescaped, but was so frightened that he ran out to their house,outside the town.

At tea time, Mr. Morris went down town to see that the Italian gota comfortable place for the night. When he came back, he said thathe had found out that the Italian was by no means so old a man ashe looked and that he had talked to him about raising a sum ofmoney for him among the Fairport people, till he had become quitecheerful, and said that if Mr. Morris would do that, he would try togather another troupe of animals together and train them.

"Now, what can we do for the Italian?" asked Mrs. Morris. "Wecan't give him much money, but we might let him have one or twoof our pets. There's Billy, he's a bright, little dog, and not two yearsold yet. He could teach him anything."

There was a blank silence among the Morris children. Billy wassuch a gentle, lovable, little dog, that he was a favorite with everyone in the house. "I suppose we ought to do it," said Miss Laura, atlast; "but how can we give him up?"

There was a good deal of discussion, but the end of it was thatBilly was given to the Italian. He came up to get him, and was verygrateful, and made a great many bows, holding his hat in his hand.Billy took to him at once, and the Italian spoke so kindly to him,that we knew he would have a good master. Mr. Morris got quite alarge sum of money for him, and when he handed it to him, thepoor man was so pleased that he kissed his hand, and promised tosend frequent word as to Billy's progress and welfare.

CHAPTER XXXVI DANDY THE TRAMP

ABOUT a week after Billy left us, the Morris family, much to itssurprise, became the owner of a new dog.

He walked into the house one cold, wintry afternoon and laycalmly down by the fire. He was a brindled bull-terrier, and he hadon a silver-plated collar with "Dandy" engraved on it. He lay allthe evening by the fire, and when any of the family spoke to him,he wagged his tail, and looked pleased. I growled a little at him atfirst, but he never cared a bit, and just dozed off to sleep, so I soonstopped.

He was such a well-bred dog, that the Morrises were afraid thatsome one had lost him. They made some inquiries the next day,and found that he belonged to a New York gentleman who hadcome to Fairport in the summer in a yacht. This dog did not likethe yacht. He came ashore in a boat whenever he got a chance, andif he could not come in a boat, he would swim. He was a tramp,his master said, and he wouldn't stay long in any place. TheMorrises were so amused with his impudence, that they did notsend him away, but said every day, "Surely he will be goneto-morrow."

However, Mr. Dandy had gotten into comfortable quarters, and hehad no intention of changing them, for a while at least. Then hewas very handsome, and had such a pleasant way with him, thatthe family could not help liking him. I never cared for him. Hefawned on the Morrises, and pretended he loved them, andafterward turned around and laughed and sneered at them in a waythat made me very angry. I used to lecture him sometimes, andgrowl about him to Jim, but Jim always said, "Let him alone. Youcan't do him any good. He was born bad. His mother wasn't good.He tells me that she had a bad name among all the dogs in herneighborhood. She was a thief and a runaway." Though heprovoked me so often, yet I could not help laughing at some of hisstories, they were so funny.

We were lying out in the sun, on the platform at the back of thehouse, one day, and he had been more than usually provoking, so Igot up to leave him. He put himself in my way, however, and said,coaxingly, "Don't be cross, old fellow. I'll tell you some stories toamuse you, old boy. What shall they be about?"

"I think the story of your life would be about as interesting asanything you could make up," I said, dryly.

"All right, fact or fiction, whichever you like. Here's a fact, plainand unvarnished. Born and bred in New York. Swell stable. Swellcoachman. Swell master. Jewelled fingers of ladies poking at me,first thing I remember. First painful experience being sent to vet. tohave ears cut."

"Why didn't they cut your tail, too?" I said, looking at his long,slim tail, which was like a sewer rat's.

"'Twasn't the fashion, Mr. Wayback; a bull-terrier's ears are clippedto keep them from getting torn while fighting."

"You're not a fighting dog," I said.

"Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in taking things easy."

"I should think you did," I said, scornfully. "You never put yourselfout for any one, I notice; but, speaking of cropping ears, what doyou think of it?"

"Well," he said, with a sly glance at my head, "it isn't a pleasantoperation; but one might well be out of the world as out of thefashion. I don't care, now my ears are done."

"But," I said, "think of the poor dogs that will come after you."

"What difference does that make to me?" he said. "I'll be dead andout of the way. Men can cut off their ears, and tails, and legs, too,if they want to."

"Dandy," I said, angrily, "you're the most selfish dog that I eversaw."

"Don't excite yourself," he said, coolly. "Let me get on with mystory. When I was a few months old, I began to find the stable yardnarrow and wondered what there was outside of it. I discovered ahole in the garden wall, and used to sneak out nights. Oh, what funit was. I got to know a lot of street dogs, and we had gay times,barking under people's windows and making them mad, andgetting into back yards and chasing cats. We used to kill a catnearly every night. Policeman would chase us, and we would runand run till the water just ran off our tongues, and we hadn't a bitof breath left. Then I'd go home and sleep all day, and go out againthe next night. When I was about a year old, I began to stay outdays as well as nights. They couldn't keep me home. Then I ranaway for three months. I got with an old lady on Fifth Avenue, whowas very fond of dogs. She had four white poodles, and herservants used to wash them, and tie up their hair with blue ribbons,and she used to take them for drives in her phaeton in the park, andthey wore gold and silver collars. The biggest poodle wore a rubyin his collar worth five hundred dollars. I went driving, too, andsometimes we met my master. He often smiled, and shook his headat me. I heard him tell the coachman one day that I was a littleblackguard, and he was to let me come and go as I liked."

"If they had whipped you soundly," I said, "it might have made agood dog of you."

"I'm good enough now," said Dandy, airily. "The young ladies whodrove with my master used to say that it was priggish and tiresometo be too good. To go on with my story: I stayed with Mrs. JudgeTibbett till I got sick of her fussy ways She made a simpleton ofherself over those poodles. Each one had a high chair at the table,and a plate, and they always sat in these chairs and had meals withher, and the servants all called them Master Bijou, and Master Tot,and Miss Tiny, and Miss Fluff. One day they tried to make me sitin a chair, and I got cross and bit Mrs. Tibbett, and she beat mecruelly, and her servants stoned me away from the house."

"Speaking about fools, Dandy," I said, "if it is polite to call a ladyone, I should say that that lady was one. Dogs shouldn't be put outof their place. Why didn't she have some poor children at her table,and in her carriage, and let the dogs run behind?"

"Easy to see you don't know New York," said Dandy, with a laugh."Poor children don't live with rich, old ladies. Mrs. Tibbett hatedchildren, anyway. Then dogs like poodles would get lost in themud, or killed in the crowd if they ran behind a carriage. Onlyknowing dogs like me can make their way about." I rather doubtedthis speech; but I said nothing, and he went on patronizingly:"However, Joe, thou hast reason, as the French say. Mrs. JudgeTibbett didn't give her dogs exercise enough. Their claws were aslong as Chinamen's nails, and the hair grew over their pads, andthey had red eyes and were always sick, and she had to dose themwith medicine, and call them her poor, little, 'weeny-teenysicky-wicky doggies.' Bah! I got disgusted with her. When I lefther, I ran away to her niece's, Miss Ball's. She was a sensibleyoung lady, and she used to scold her aunt for the way in whichshe brought up her dogs. She was almost too sensible, for her pugand I were rubbed and scrubbed within an inch of our lives, andhad to go for such long walks that I got thoroughly sick of them. Awoman, whom the servants called Trotsey, came every morning,and took the pug and me by our chains, and sometimes anotherdog or two, and took us for long tramps in quiet streets. That wasTrotsey's business, to walk dogs, and Miss Ball got a great manyfashionable young ladies who could not exercise their dogs, to letTrotsey have them, and they said that it made a great difference inthe health and appearance of their pets. Trotsey got fifteen cents anhour for a dog. Goodness, what appetites those walks gave us, anddidn't we make the dog biscuits disappear? But it was a slow life atMiss Ball's. We only saw her for a little while every day. She slepttill noon. After lunch she played with us for a little while in thegreenhouse, then she was off driving or visiting, and in the eveningshe always had company, or went to a dance, or to the theatre. Isoon made up my mind that I'd run away. I jumped out of awindow one fine morning, and ran home. I stayed there for a longtime. My mother had been run over by a cart and killed, and Iwasn't sorry. My master never bothered his head about me, and Icould do as I liked. One day when I was having a walk, andmeeting a lot of dogs that I knew, a little boy came behind me, andbefore I could tell what he was doing, he had snatched me up, andwas running off with me. I couldn't bite him, for he had stuffedsome of his rags in my mouth. He took me to a tenement house, ina part of the city that I had never been in before. He belonged to avery poor family. My faith, weren't they badly off six children, anda mother, and father, all living in two tiny rooms. Scarcely a bit ofmeat did I smell while I was there. I hated their bread andmolasses, and the place smelled so badly that I thought I shouldchoke.

"They kept me shut up in their dirty rooms for several days; andthe brat of a boy that caught me slept with his arm around me atnight. The weather was hot and sometimes we couldn't sleep, andthey had to go up on the roof. After a while, they chained me up ina filthy yard at the back of the house, and there I thought I shouldgo mad. I would have liked to bite them all to death, if I had dared.It's awful to be chained, especially for a dog like me that loves hisfreedom. The flies worried me, and the noises distracted me, andmy flesh would fairly creep from getting no exercise. I was therenearly a month, while they were waiting for a reward to be offered.But none came; and one day, the boy's father, who was a streetpeddler, took me by my chain and led me about the streets till hesold me. A gentleman got me for his little boy, but I didn't like thelook of him, so I sprang up and bit his hand, and he dropped thechain, and I dodged boys and policemen and finally got homemore dead than alive, and looking like a skeleton. I had a goodtime for several weeks, and then I began to get restless and was offagain. But I'm getting tired; I want to go to sleep."

"You're not very polite," I said, "to offer to tell a story, and then goto sleep before you finish it."

"Look out for number one, my boy," said Dandy, with a yawn; "forif you don't, no one else will," and he shut his eyes and was fastasleep in a few minutes.

I sat and looked at him. What a handsome, good-natured,worthless dog he was. A few days later, he told me the rest of hishistory. After a great many wanderings, he happened home oneday just as his master's yacht was going to sail, and they chainedhim up till they went on board, so that he could be an amusementon the passage to Fairport.

It was in November that Dandy came to us, and he stayed allwinter. He made fun of the Morrises all the time, and said they hada dull, poky, old house, and he only stayed because Miss Laurawas nursing him. He had a little sore on his back that she soonfound out was mange. Her father said it was a bad disease for dogsto have, and Dandy had better be shot; but she begged so hard forhis life, and said she would cure him in a few weeks that she wasallowed to keep him. Dandy wasn't capable of getting really angry,but he was as disturbed about having this disease as he could beabout anything. He said that he had got it from a little, mangy dog,that he had played with a few weeks before. He was only with thedog a little while, and didn't think he would take it, but it seemedhe knew what an easy thing it was to get.

Until he got well he was separated from us. Miss Laura kept himup in the loft with the rabbits, where we could not go; and the boysran him around the garden for exercise. She tried all kinds of curesfor him, and I heard her say that although it was a skin disease, hisblood must be purified. She gave him some of the pills that shemade out of sulphur and butter for Jim, and Billy, and me, to keepour coats silky and smooth. When they didn't cure him, she gavehim a few drops of arsenic every day, and washed the sore, and,indeed his whole body, with tobacco water or carbolic soap. It wasthe tobacco water that cured him.

Miss Laura always put on gloves when she went near him, andused a brush to wash him, for if a person takes mange from a dog,they may lose their hair and their eyelashes. But if they are careful,no harm comes from nursing a mangy dog, and I have neverknown of any one taking the disease.

After a time, Dandy's sore healed, and he was set free. He wasright glad, he said, for he had got heartily sick of the rabbits. Heused to bark at them and make them angry, and they would runaround the loft, stamping their hind feet at him, in the funny waythat rabbits do. I think they disliked him as much as he dislikedthem. Jim and I did not get the mange. Dandy was not a strongdog, and I think his irregular way of living made him take diseasesreadily. He would stuff himself when he was hungry, and healways wanted rich food. If he couldn't get what he wanted at theMorrises', he went out and stole, or visited the dumps at the backof the town.

When he did get ill, he was more stupid about doctoring himselfthan any dog that I have ever seen. He never seemed to know whento eat grass or herbs, or a little earth, that would have kept him ingood condition. A dog should never be without grass. When Dandygot ill he just suffered till he got well again, and never tried to curehimself of his small troubles. Some dogs even know enough toamputate their limbs. Jim told me a very interesting story of a dogthe Morrises once had, called Gyp, whose leg became paralyzed bya kick from a horse. He knew the leg was dead, and gnawed it offnearly to the shoulder, and though he was very sick for a time, yetin the end he got well.

To return to Dandy. I knew he was only waiting for the spring toleave us, and I was not sorry. The first fine day he was off, andduring the rest of the spring and summer we occasionally met himrunning about the town with a set of fast dogs. One day I stoppedand asked him how he concealed himself in such a quiet place asFairport, and he said he was dying to get back to New York, andwas hoping that his master's yacht would come and take him away.

Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, he was not such a baddog. There was nothing really vicious about him, and I hate tospeak of his end. His master's yacht did not come, and soon thesummer was over, and the winter was coming, and no one wantedDandy, for he had such a bad name. He got hungry and cold, andone day sprang upon a little girl, to take away a piece of bread andbutter that she was eating. He did not see the large house-dog onthe door sill, and before he could get away, the dog had seizedhim, and bitten and shaken him till he was nearly dead. When thedog threw him aside, he crawled to the Morrises, and Miss Laurabandaged his wounds, and made him a bed in the stable.

One Sunday morning she washed and fed him very tenderly, forshe knew he could not live much longer. He was so weak that hecould scarcely eat the food that she put in his mouth, so she let himlick some milk from her finger. As she was going to church, Icould not go with her, but I ran down the lane and watched her outof sight. When I came back, Dandy was gone. I looked till I foundhim. He had crawled into the darkest corner of the stable to die,and though he was suffering very much, he never uttered a sound. Isat by him and thought of his master in New York. If he hadbrought Dandy up properly he might not now be here in his silentdeath agony. A young pup should be trained just as a child is, andpunished when he goes wrong. Dandy began badly, and not beingchecked in his evil ways, had come so this. Poor Dandy! Poor,handsome dog of a rich master! He opened his dull eyes, gave meone last glance, then, with a convulsive shudder, his torn limbswere still. He would never suffer any more.

When Miss Laura came home, she cried bitterly to know that hewas dead. The boys took him away from her, and made him agrave in the corner of the garden.

CHAPTER XXXVII THE END OF MY STORY

I HAVE come now to the last chapter of my story. I thought when Ibegan to write, that I would put down the events of each year ofmy life, but I fear that would make my story too long, and neitherMiss Laura nor any boys and girls would care to read it. So I willstop just here, though I would gladly go on, for I have enjoyed somuch talking over old times, that I am very sorry to leave off.

Every year that I have been at the Morrises', something pleasanthas happened to me, but I cannot put all these things down, norcan I tell how Miss Laura and the boys grew and changed, year byyear, till now they are quite grown up. I will just bring my taledown to the present time, and then I will stop talking, and go liedown in my basket, for I am an old dog now, and get tired veryeasily.

I was a year old when I went to the Morrises, and I have been withthem for twelve years. I am not living in the same house with Mr.and Mrs. Morris now, but I am with my dear Miss Laura, who isMiss Laura no longer, but Mrs. Gray. She married Mr. Harry fouryears ago, and lives with him and Mr. and Mrs. Wood, on DingleyFarm. Mr. and Mrs. Morris live in a cottage near by. Mr. Morris isnot very strong, and can preach no longer. The boys are allscattered. Jack married pretty Miss Bessie Drury, and lives on alarge farm near here. Miss Bessie says that she hates to be afarmer's wife, but she always looks very happy and contented, so Ithink that she must be mistaken. Carl is a merchant in New York,Ned is a clerk in a bank, and Willie is studying at a place calledHarvard. He says that after he finishes his studies, he is going tolive with his father and mother.

The Morrises' old friends often come to see them. Mrs. Drurycomes every summer on her way to Newport, and Mr. Montagueand Charlie come every other summer. Charlie always brings withhim his old dog Brisk, who is getting feeble, like myself. We lie onthe veranda in the sunshine, and listen to the Morrises talkingabout old days, and sometimes it makes us feel quite young again.In addition to Brisk we have a Scotch collie. He is very handsome,and is a constant attendant of Miss Laura's. We are great friends,he and I, but he can get about much better than I can. One day afriend of Miss Laura's came with a little boy and girl, and "Collie"sat between the two children, and their father took their picturewith a "kodak." I like him so much that I told him I would getthem to put his picture in my book.

When the Morris boys are all here in the summer we have gaytimes. All through the winter we look forward to their coming, forthey make the old farmhouse so lively. Mr. Maxwell never missesa summer in coming to Riverdale. He has such a following ofdumb animals now, that he says he can't move them any fartheraway from Boston than this, and he doesn't know what he will dowith them, unless he sets up a menagerie. He asked Miss Laura theother day, if she thought that the old Italian would take him intopartnership. He did not know what had happened to poor Bellini,so Miss Laura told him.

A few years ago the Italian came to Riverdale, to exhibit his newstock of performing animals. They were almost as good as the oldones, but he had not quite so many as he had before. The Morrisesand a great many of their friends went to his performance, andMiss Laura said afterward, that when cunning little Billy came onthe stage, and made his bow, and went through his antics ofjumping through hoops, and catching balls, that she almost hadhysterics. The Italian had made a special pet of him for theMorrises' sake, and treated him more like a human being than adog. Billy rather put on airs when he came up to the farm to see us,but he was such a dear, little dog, in spite of being almost spoiledby his master, that Jim and I could not get angry with him. In a fewdays they went away, and we heard nothing but good news fromthem, till last winter. Then a letter came to Miss Laura from anurse in a New York hospital. She said that the Italian was verynear his end, and he wanted her to write to Mrs. Gray to tell herthat he had sold all his animals but the little dog that she had sokindly given him. He was sending him back to her, and with hislatest breath he would pray for heaven's blessing on the kind ladyand her family that had befriended him when he was in trouble.

The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scarecrow of a dog. Hewas sick and unhappy, and would eat nothing, and started up at theslightest sound. He was listening for the Italian's footsteps, but henever came, and one day Mr. Harry looked up from his newspaperand said, "Laura, Bellini is dead." Miss Laura's eyes filled withtears, and Billy, who had jumped up when he heard his master'sname, fell back again. He knew what they meant, and from thatinstant he ceased listening for footsteps, and lay quite still till hedied. Miss Laura had him put in a little wooden box, and buriedhim in a corner of the garden, and when she is working among herflowers, she often speaks regretfully of him, and of poor Dandy,who lies in the garden at Fairport.

Bella, the parrot, lives with Mrs. Morris, and is as smart as ever. Ihave heard that parrots live to a very great age. Some of them evenget to be a hundred years old. If that is the case, Bella will outliveall of us. She notices that I am getting blind and feeble, and when Igo down to call on Mrs. Morris, she calls out to me, "Keep a stiffupper lip, Beautiful Joe. Never say die, Beautiful Joe. Keep thegame a-going, Beautiful Joe."

Mrs. Morris says that she doesn't know where Bella picks up herslang words. I think it is Mr. Ned who teaches her, for when hecomes home in the summer he often says, with a sly twinkle in hiseye, "Come out into the garden, Bella," and he lies in a hammockunder the trees, and Bella perches on a branch near him, and hetalks to her by the hour. Anyway, it is in the autumn after he leavesRiverdale that Bella always shocks Mrs. Morris with her slangtalk.

I am glad that I am to end my days in Riverdale. Fairport was avery nice place, but it was not open and free like this farm. I take awalk every morning that the sun shines. I go out among the horsesand cows, and stop to watch the hens pecking at their food. This isa happy place, and I hope my dear Miss Laura will live to enjoy itmany years after I am gone.

I have very few worries. The pigs bother me a little in the spring,by rooting up the bones that I bury in the fields in the fall, but thatis a small matter, and I try not to mind it. I get a great many boneshere, and I should be glad if I had some poor, city dogs to help meeat them. I don't think bones are good for pigs.

Then there is Mr. Harry's tame squirrel out in one of the barns thatteases me considerably. He knows that I can't chase him, now thatmy legs are so stiff with rheumatism, and he takes delight inshowing me how spry he can be, darting around me and whiskinghis tail almost in my face, and trying to get me to run after him, sothat he can laugh at me. I don't think that he is a very thoughtfulsquirrel, but I try not to notice him.

The sailor boy who gave Bella to the Morrises has got to be alarge, stout man, and is the first mate of a vessel. He sometimescomes here, and when he does, he always brings the Morrisespresents of foreign fruits and curiosities of different kinds.

Malta, the cat, is still living, and is with Mrs. Morris. Davy, the rat,is gone, so is poor old Jim. He went away one day last summer,and no one ever knew what became of him. The Morrises searchedeverywhere for him, and offered a large reward to any one whowould find him but he never turned up again. I think that he felt hewas going to die, and went into some out-of-the-way place. Heremembered how badly Miss Laura felt when Dandy died, and hewanted to spare her the greater sorrow of his death. He was alwayssuch a thoughtful dog, and so anxious not to give trouble. I ammore selfish. I could not go away from Miss Laura even to die.When my last hour comes, I want to see her gentle face bendingover me, and then I shall not mind how much I suffer.

She is just as tender-hearted as ever, but she tries not to feel toobadly about the sorrow and suffering in the world, because shesays that would weaken her, and she wants all her strength to try toput a stop to some of it. She does a great deal of good in Riverdale,and I do not think that there is any one in all the country aroundwho is as much beloved as she is.

She has never forgotten the resolve that she made some years ago,that she would do all that she could to protect dumb creatures. Mr.Harry and Mr. Maxwell have helped her nobly. Mr. Maxwell'swork is largely done in Boston, and Miss Laura and Mr. Harryhave to do the most of theirs by writing, for Riverdale has got to bea model village in respect of the treatment of all kinds of animals.It is a model village not only in that respect, but in others. It hasseemed as if all other improvements went hand in hand with thehumane treatment of animals. Thoughtfulness toward lowercreatures has made the people more and more thoughtful towardthemselves, and this little town is getting to have quite a namethrough the State for its good schools, good society, and goodbusiness and religious standing. Many people are moving into it, toeducate their children.. The Riverdale people are very particularabout what sort of strangers come to live among them.

A man, who came here two years ago and opened a shop, was seenkicking a small kitten out of his house. The next day a committeeof Riverdale citizens waited on him, and said they had had a greatdeal of trouble to root out cruelty from their village, and they didn'twant any one to come there and introduce it again, and theythought he had better move on to some other place. The man wasutterly astonished, and said he'd never heard of such particularpeople. He had had no thought of being cruel. He didn't think thatthe kitten cared; but now when he turned the thing over in hismind, he didn't suppose cats liked being kicked about any morethan he would like it himself, and he would promise to be kind tothem in future. He said, too, that if they had no objection, hewould just stay on, for if the people there treated dumb animalswith such consideration, they would certainly treat human beingsbetter, and he thought it would be a good place to bring up hischildren in. Of course they let him stay, and he is now a man whois celebrated for his kindness to every living thing; and he neverrefuses to help Miss Laura when she goes to him for money tocarry out any of her humane schemes.

There is one most important saying of Miss Laura's that comes outof her years of service for dumb animals that I must put in before Iclose and it is this. She says that cruel and vicious owners ofanimals should be punished, but to merely thoughtless people,don't say "Don't" so much. Don't go to them and say, "Don'toverfeed your animals, and don't starve them and don't overworkthem, and don't beat them," and so on through the long list ofhardships that can be put upon suffering animals, but say simply tothem, "Be kind. Make a study of your animals' wants, and see thatthey are satisfied. No one can tell you how to treat your animal aswell as you should know yourself, for you are with it all the time,and know its disposition, and just how much work it can stand, andhow much rest and food it needs, and just how it is different fromevery other animal. If it is sick or unhappy, you are the one to takecare of it; for nearly every animal loves its own master better thana stranger, and will get well quicker under his care."

Miss Laura says that if men and women are kind in every respectto their dumb servants, they will be astonished to find how muchhappiness they will bring into their lives, and how faithful andgrateful their dumb animals will be to them.

Now, I must really close my story. Good-bye to the boys and girlswho may read it; and if it is not wrong for a dog to say it, I shouldlike to add, "God bless you all." If in my feeble way I have beenable to impress you with the fact that dogs and many other animalslove their masters and mistresses, and live only to please them, mylittle story will not be written in vain. My last words are, "Boysand girls, be kind to dumb animals, not only because you will losenothing by it, but because you ought to; for they were placed onthe earth by the same Kind Hand that made all living creatures."